A CONFIDENCE.
Meanwhile Lena was fretting herself ill over the terrible secret
which she imagined she shared with no one in the house; turning over
and over in her mind all manner of impossible devices for the relief
of her scapegrace brother. Not for one instant would she entertain
the thought of applying to her uncle in accordance with his
indelicate suggestion; and her father and mother were, to her mind,
as well as to Percy's, utterly out of the question. No idea of
applying to them entered her head. The change in her, her troubled,
worried expression, the almost hunted look in her beautiful eyes made
her uncle and aunt extremely anxious, especially as they could find
no clew to the cause, for they knew nothing of the letter from Percy.
The child wrote to her brother and told him that she could see no way
of procuring the money for him, for she _would not_ apply to
their uncle; but she would try and contrive some means of helping
him.
With the heedless _insouciance_ which distinguished him, or
rather with the selfish facility with which he threw a share, and a
large share, of his burdens upon others, he had comforted himself
with the thought that Lena would surely contrive some way of helping
him; would, in spite of her declarations to the contrary, apply to
Colonel Rush, guarding his secret, and taking upon herself all the
weight and embarrassment of asking such an unheard of favor. But
although he did strive to be hopeful, he had times of the deepest
despondency and dread, when he looked his predicament fully in the
face; and he felt it hard that Lewis, who, after all, had been the
chief offender, should be, as he in his careless way phrased it, "all
right" at what seemed to be so little cost to him, while he, Percy,
was under this cloud of apprehension and uncertainty.
Harley Seabrooke was not hard-hearted, although he was determined
that the two boys should make full restitution, and justly so, and he
could not but feel sorry for Percy when these fits of despair
overtook him.
"Neville," he said to him one day, "have you written to your parents
about this matter?"
"To my father and mother! oh, no!" answered Percy, looking dismayed
at the bare idea of such a thing; "Oh, no, of course not. How could
I?"
"It seems to me," said Harley, eying the boy curiously, "that such a
thing is the most natural course when one is in such a difficulty.
Certainly it must involve confession, but they would be the most
lenient and tender judges one could have. Why not make a clean breast
of it, Percy, and have it over? You hardly, I suppose, can obtain
such a sum of money except by application to them; or have you some
other friend who will help you?"
"I have--I did--I mean I will," stammered Percy. "I have asked
and--and--I know I must have it somehow."
He looked so utterly depressed and forlorn that Harley's heart was
moved for him.
"If I were rich, Percy," he said, "if I could in any way afford it, I
would not insist upon such early payment of my loss; but it is only
just that you should make it good. You did not know what you were
doing, it is true, the extent of the injury to me; but you had
suffered yourself to be tempted into wrong by a boy much worse than
yourself, and you meant to play me a sorry trick, which has recoiled
upon yourself. That money, the check you destroyed, I had received
from a publisher for a piece of work over which I had spent much time
and which I had devoted to a special purpose. I have a young sister
who has a wonderful talent for drawing and painting, is, in fact, a
genius; and her gift ought to be cultivated, for we hope it will, in
time, be a source of profit to herself and others; but my father is
a poor clergyman, and all of us try to do what we can to help
ourselves and one another. You know on what terms I am here; and it
is only through the kindness of Dr. Leacraft that I enjoy the
advantages I do; and of late I have been able to earn a little by
articles I have written for papers and magazines. This two hundred
dollars I had received for a little book, and I intended it should be
the means of giving my little sister at least a beginning of the
drawing lessons which would be of so much use to her. You may judge
then if I do not feel that I must have it back, and that without
farther delay. I am sorry for you, but I cannot sacrifice my sister."
Seabrooke was regarded by the boys as unsympathetic, cold, and stiff
in his manner--perhaps he was somewhat so--and as he seldom spoke of
himself they knew little of his affairs or of his family relations;
and he was also considered to have a rather elderly style of talking,
unbefitting his comparatively few years.
Percy's manner, which had been rather sullen and listless when the
other began to speak, had brightened as Seabrooke went on; and when
he mentioned his sister, his face lighted with a look of interest
which somewhat surprised his senior.
"What is your sister's name? Gladys?" he asked.
"Yes," answered Harley, surprised at the question. "Do you know her?"
"Yes--no--my sister and some other girls I know, know her," said
Percy; and then followed the story of the meeting in the church and
of the interest taken in the young artist by Lena, Maggie and Bessie.
"So it was your friends and relatives, then, who sent the check for
the church to my father, and the Christmas box to my sister?" said
Seabrooke, feeling much more inclined to forgive Percy than he had
felt since the destruction of his letter.
"I don't know anything about a check," answered Percy, for Colonel
Rush had not mentioned that little circumstance to the junior portion
of his family, "but I do know that the girls sent your sister a
Christmas box, for I helped to pack it myself, and they are all agog
about some prize they hope to win among them, a prize which will give
them somehow, an artist education, which they can give to some girl
who needs it. I don't know exactly how it is, only I do know they are
all just agog about it, and they want it for your sister Gladys, at
least for a girl of that name. But I believe I ought not to have
spoken of that; it is only a chance, you know; there are ever so many
girls to try for the prize, and our girls may not gain it."
"And my sister don't want the chance," said Harley, the stubborn
pride which was one of his characteristics, up in arms at once. "We
may be and are poor, but we will not ask for charity."
"Well, you needn't be so highty-tighty about it," said Percy, taking
a more sensible view of the matter than his older companion did.
"_I_ don't call it charity, and if it is, it comes from somebody
who is dead, so one needn't feel any special obligation to the girls.
It is only that they earn the right to say to whom the gift shall go;
they don't _give_ it. And," he added, with his usual happy
faculty for saying the wrong thing, "I don't see why you should be so
stiff about it when you yourself"--he paused, seeing by the dark look
which came over Seabrooke's face that he had touched upon a sore
point.
"You would say," said Harley, stiffly, "when I accept favors from Dr.
Leacraft for myself; but you will please remember that I, at least,
give some equivalent for my tuition, so I am not altogether a charity
scholar. And it is my object to provide for my sister myself, and I
still insist that you shall pay me what you owe me, Neville. If your
friends earned forty scholarships for Gladys, that would make no
difference in my just demands."
"Nobody asked that it should!" exclaimed Percy, flying into one of
the rare passions to which his amiable, easy-going nature would
occasionally lapse under great provocation, "nobody asked that it
should; and you are"--and here he launched into some most
uncomplimentary remarks, and then dashed from the room, leaving
Harley to feel that he had made a great mistake, and missed, by the
insinuation that Percy fancied he would abate his demands for
restitution, an opportunity of influencing the boy, who was easily
led for either good or evil.
The result of this was, on Percy's part, another frantic appeal to
Lena to find some means of helping him before Easter, that Seabrooke
was very hard on him and determined not to spare him.
This letter would never have reached Lena had it not been delivered
into the hands of Colonel Rush, who met the postman at the foot of
his own steps, and took this with others from him. For Hannah,
following out her policy that the end justified the means, and
undeterred by the scrape into which Percy had brought himself by
means somewhat similar, kept on the watch for letters for Lena,
determined to hide and destroy any which should come from Percy.
She fancied that she had not yet made up her mind to the course she
would pursue; but she really had done so, though the faithful old
nurse clung till the last moment to the cherished gold, with a faint
hope that something might yet chance to save it.
The colonel went up to pay a little visit to Lena, and came down
looking rather perturbed and anxious.
"That child continues to look badly," he said to Mrs. Rush, "and she
appears to me to have something on her mind. Do you think it is
possible, now that Russell is better?"
"I am sure of it," answered his wife, "sure that something is
troubling her very much, and I was about to speak of it to you. She
is such a reticent, reserved child, that I did not like to try and
force her confidence, although I have opened the way for her to give
it to me if she chose to do so."
"I brought her a letter from Percy yesterday," said the colonel, "and
when I handed it to her, she flushed painfully and seemed very nervous,
and I noticed that she did not open it while I was in the room. I
wonder if he is in any trouble."
Mrs. Rush shook her head. She had not even noticed this, and had no
clew whereby she might guess at the cause of Lena's depression; but
she said:
"I am going to send for Maggie and Bessie to come and spend the day
with her. She is able, I think, to have them with her, and they may
brighten her a little."
No sooner said than done; the colonel, always glad of any excuse for
bringing these prime favorites of his to his own house, went for them
himself, and finding them disengaged, this being Saturday and a
holiday, brought them back with him.
He had the pleasure of seeing Lena's pale face light up when she saw
them, and soon left the young patient with her two little friends to
work what healing influences they might.
Now, although Lena was very fond of both these girls, Bessie was her
special favorite, perhaps because she, being less shy than Maggie,
had been the first to offer her sympathy and comfort at the time when
Lena had been left at her uncle's with her heart wrung with anxiety
and distress for her brother Russell who was then very dangerously
ill.
And Bessie was now quick to see that something was wrong with Lena.
Maggie saw it too, but shy Maggie, unless it was with some one as
frank as herself, could not seek to draw forth confidences. But, with
her usual considerate thoughtfulness, she did that which was perhaps
better; she presently withdrew herself to the next room with Elsie
and little May and amused them there, so that Lena might have the
opportunity of speaking to Bessie if she so chose.
But not even to Bessie would or could Lena confide the story of
Percy's misdoing and its direful results, longing though she might be
for her sympathy and advice. Lena knew Bessie's strict
conscientiousness, which was almost equalled by her own, and she knew
also Bessie's complete trust in her parents, and how in any trouble
her first thought would be to confide in them in full faith that they
would be only too ready to lift the burden from her shoulders.
No, Bessie was not like herself; she had no dread of her father and
mother, nor had any of the children in that large and happy family;
and it would have seemed unnatural to them to have any such fears.
But there was a question which had been agitating her own mind which
she meant to ask Bessie and hear her clear, straightforward views on
the matter; for Lena feared, and justly, that her own wishes might
have too much weight with her own opinion, and she dared not yield to
these for fear of doing wrong.
"Lena, dear," said Bessie, "is your brother Russell worse?"
"No," answered Lena, "he is improving every day now, mamma says."
"You seem rather troubled and as if something were the matter," said
Bessie, simply, but in half-questioning tones, thus opening the door
for confidence if Lena wished to give it.
"I would like to ask you something," said Lena, wistfully. "You
remember the checks papa and Russell sent me?"
"Oh, yes, of course," answered Bessie. "How could I forget them?"
"Do you think," said Lena, slowly and doubtfully, "that if a person
who was not a poor person was in great trouble, it would be quite
right to use some of that money to help them out of their trouble?
You know papa and Russell say I may use it for any charity I choose.
Do you think it would be called charity to do that when the person
was in trouble only because he had been--had done very wrong?"
"I don't know. I don't quite understand," said Bessie, quite at sea,
as she might well be, at such a vague representation of the case. "I
suppose," thoughtfully, "that it might be right if you felt quite
sure that your father or brother would be willing."
"But they would not be--at least--oh, I do not know what to think or
what to do," exclaimed poor Lena, breaking down under the weight of
all her troubles and perplexities.
"I can't tell what to say unless I know more about it," said Bessie,
taking Lena's hand; "but, Lena dear,"--approaching the subject of
Lena's relations with her own family with some reluctance, "but, Lena
dear, if you do not want to ask your father and mother, why do you
not ask Uncle Horace? He is so very nice and good, and he knows about
almost everything."
But before she had finished speaking she saw that the suggestion did
not meet the case at all.
"Uncle Horace! Oh, no!" ejaculated Lena, "that would be worse than
all! Oh, if I could only tell Russell!"
"Why do you not?" asked Bessie.
"It would make him ill again; it might kill him," answered Lena, more
excitedly than ever. "Tell me what it is right to do by myself,
Bessie."
"How can I, dear, when I do not know what it is?" said the troubled
and sympathizing Bessie.
Lena looked into the clear, tender eyes before her own, and her
resolution was taken; although, knowing, as she did, Bessie's almost
morbid conscientiousness and her horror of anything small, mean or
tricky, she knew that she would be terribly shocked when she heard
the source of the trouble; but she _must_ tell some one, must
have a little advice.
"I want to tell you, Bessie," she said, falteringly, "but you will
not tell any one, will you? Not even Maggie?"
"No. Maggie is very good about that, and not at all curious," said
Bessie. "I couldn't keep a secret of my own from her; but some one
else's she would not mind. But mamma--could I not tell mamma?"
"Oh, no," said Lena, "no! _Must_ you tell your mother
everything--things that are not secrets of your own?"
Bessie stood thoughtful for a moment.
"No," she at last answered, a little reluctantly. "If mamma knew it
would be a help to some one to have me keep a secret, I do not think
she would mind; for mamma has a good deal"--of confidence in her
children, she would have added, but checked herself with the thought
that Lena enjoyed no such blessing, and that she was presenting too
forcible a contrast between her own lot and that of her little
friend, and she hastily substituted, "a great deal of good sense for
her children. But, Lena dear, you do not know how well my mamma keeps
a secret, and how she can help people out of trouble."
"No, no!" said Lena again, "I couldn't let her know. He wouldn't like
it; he would never forgive me," she added, forgetting herself.
Light flashed upon Bessie.
"Lena, is it Percy?" she asked.
"Yes," faltered Lena; and then followed the whole story; at least,
the whole as she knew it, so much as Percy had revealed to her.
Bessie was indeed shocked, perhaps even more at the contemptible
selfishness and weakness which had led Percy to throw the burden of
this secret upon his young sister, and to appeal to her for help,
than she was by his original fault. Her own brother Harry was noted
for his chivalrous gallantry to girls; so much so, that it was a
subject of joke among his schoolmates and companions; and Fred,
although known as a tease, was quite above anything small or petty,
and would have scorned to ask such a thing as this from any girl,
especially from one who was weak and ill, and but just coming back
from the borders of the grave. Bessie felt no sympathy whatever for
Percy, but more than she could express for the innocent Lena; and her
indignation at the reckless brother found vent in terms unusually
emphatic for her.
But, alas for Lena! Bessie could see no way out of the difficulty
more than Lena could herself. In spite of her ardent wish to do this,
her upright little soul could by no means advise or justify for this
purpose the use of any part of the sums put by Mr. Neville and
Russell into Lena's hands.
"For you know, dear Lena," she said, "your father and brother said
for charity, didn't they? And Percy is not a 'charity.'"
"No," answered Lena, with a pitiful, pleading tremor in her voice,
"but papa said I could use it for any good object I chose. See,
Bessie, here is his letter, and that is just what he says."
"Yes," said Bessie, glancing at the lines in Mr. Neville's letter to
which Lena pointed, "yes; but Percy is not an 'object.' At least not
what your father means by 'any object.'"
"And he certainly is not good" she added to herself; then said slowly
again: "But, Lena, why don't you tell your brother Russell, when you
say he is so good and nice?"
But to this also Lena returned the most decided negative. No, Russell
must not be worried or made anxious and unhappy, no matter what might
happen to Percy or to the rest of the family. Russell must be spared,
at all hazards, and it was plainly to be seen that, distressed as she
was for Percy, his welfare was by no means to be weighed in the
balance against that of his elder brother.
Bessie, helpless as Lena herself, had no farther suggestion to offer,
and save that she now shared the burden of her secret with some one
who could sympathize, Lena had gained nothing by imparting it to her
little friend; and when Maggie returned, she found her looking as
depressed and anxious as before, while Bessie's sweet face also now
wore a troubled expression.
Maggie asked no questions; but when they were at home that evening,
Bessie said to her:
"Maggie, dear, I have to have a secret from you. It is not mine, but
Lena's, and she will not let me tell even you; and she will not tell
Uncle Horace or Aunt Marion or any of her people. And then again it
is not her very own secret, but some one else's, and it is a great
weight on her mind because she does not know what to do about it. And
so it is on mine," she added, with a deep sigh.
"I wish you could tell me," said Maggie; "not that I am so very
curious about it, although, of course, I should like very much to
know; but cannot you tell mamma, Bessie?"
"No," answered Bessie; "it seemed to me mamma would not mind if I
promised I would not tell even her, when Lena seemed to have such a
trouble and wanted to tell me. I can't bear not to tell her or not to
tell you; but I thought I would promise, because Lena is such a very
good girl and so very true, and she has such a perfectly horrible
mother. Maggie, every night when you say your prayers, do you thank
God that Mrs. Neville is not your mother? I do."
"Yes, and about a thousand times a day besides," answered Maggie.
"But, Bessie, could you help Lena in her trouble?"
"No," said Bessie, her face shadowed again, "and I do not see how any
one can help her, so long as she will not tell any grown-up person.
Not one of us children could help her."
Bessie was depressed and very thoughtful that evening, and so silent
as to attract the attention of her family; but to all inquiries she
returned only a faint smile without words, while to her mother she
confessed that she had "a weight on her mind," but that this was
caused by another person's secret which she could not tell.
Accustomed to invite and receive the unlimited confidence of her
children, Mrs. Bradford still treated them as if they were reasonable
beings, and on the rare occasions, such as the present, when they
withheld it, she was satisfied to believe that they had good and
sufficient reasons for so doing.